


Getting to Know You

by shit-escalates (Schm0use)



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/shit-escalates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hard part had never been finding Matteo Fantomas. It had been catching him. </p>
<p>From the sentence prompt: “The skirt is short on purpose.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting to Know You

The call came early in the morning, early enough that it was still dark out when Mickey stumbled into headquarters twenty seven minutes after hanging up the phone. He was having a damn hard time walking, but he hadn’t been able to stop for coffee. He was only roughly aware of about half the world around him.

He banged the door off the wall loud enough that all the agents on duty all looked up as he entered.

“Holy shit,” Harmony said. “Is this seriously what you look like in the morning? Were you attacked by a raccoon on your way over?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be off the clock?” Mickey exhaled loudly and swept his hair out of his face. He took more pride in his appearance than the majority of the other agents. He was a firm believer that sometimes a nice suit and tie just didn’t cut it. It was practical – people were more likely to talk when they believed they’d be listened to, as opposed to shot.

It didn’t mean the others didn’t like to give him a ton of shit over it. Harmony was by far the worst – her red hair was pulled back into something that once might have resembled a ponytail, and her suit was in a state of disarray. It worked for her – she kept her half scarred face formed into a perpetual sneer, and coerced more confessions out of hardened criminals than any of the other agents in the division.

“Evey, where is he?” Mickey asked, deliberately addressing Harmony’s partner. Evey was the “good” cop to Harmony’s bad. She sported a shock of pink hair the same color as the bubblegum she chewed nonstop – she was a wild one.

In the underworld, the female investigative duo was known as “Valentine’s Day” - because when they came around, you knew you were gonna get fucked.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Evey asked, not looking up from the bandage she’s wrapping around Harmony’s arm. Rough night.

Mickey slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t fuck with me, Ev.”

Evey smirked. “Interrogation. With Dancer.”

“You let Dancer have him first?!”

“What were we supposed to do, Mickey, shoot him in the kneecap?” Evey asked, throwing up her hands. “He wanted to question him, so he’s questioning him. You’re invited to the party, that’s why he called you.” She picked up a folder and shoved it at him. “Here.”

Mickey took it and flipped through it. Paperwork, perp files, arrest details – _arrest details_?

“Sec.” He said, slowing as he flipped through the folder. “Why _are_ you two even here? You’re not on night shift.”

Harmony gave him a vicious smile. “Because we helped make the arrest, Mick. Dancer called _us_.”

Mickey stared at her, shocked. “But – my intel – all my investigations—”

“Aren’t shit when it comes to getting out in the field.” Harmony shrugged. “That gut instinct of yours can’t aim a gun, despite what you think. You always were too full of yourself.”

Mickey didn’t even register the insult. His mind reeled – he’d spent months of his life on this case, days of not sleeping or even eating. _Years_ before that suspecting, following the trail through smoke and wind.

And he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t even been there to make the arrest.

“Why…?” He asked.

“Ask Dancer.” Evey said bluntly.  

Mickey didn’t argue, just turned wordlessly to make his way out of the room. He caught his foot on the edge of a desk and stumbled.

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, boy wonder.” Harmony called after him.

This was going to be a fucking terrible day.

***

He was about to open the door to the Interrogation Room when it swing open. Special Agent Dancer slipped outside, shutting the door with a snap behind him. He crossed his arms and stared at Mickey.

Dancer was on the older side, still handsome, though a bad accident in the field years back had rendered him mainly fit for desk work. He wasn’t bitter about it – the man’s most useful asset was and always had been his brain.

Mickey opened his mouth, and Dancer raised a hand, cutting him off.

“I know what you’re about to say, son.”

“There are a _lot_ of things I want to say.” Mickey replied.

“Then you better think carefully about which of them you let out your mouth if you want a shot at getting in that room.”

Mickey thought about it. He remained silent.

“Good.” Dancer nodded. “I’ll say my piece, then. You’ve been distracted.”

“Distracted?” Mickey couldn’t help himself. “I’ve done nothing but work this case for _months_. I haven’t thought about anything besides this case.”

“Exactly.” Dancer sighs. “You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You’re in the office more than I am. You’re barely functioning. I couldn’t let you come along for this, not when everything was riding on it. You understand?”

He didn’t – but he did. Mickey nodded silently.

“You were too close to this.” Dancer said. “But we wouldn’t be standing here without your intel. So I’m gonna let you in that room.” He leveled a stare at Mickey. “Don’t let me regret that decision.”

He opened the door and let Mickey in before him. Mickey stepped through and came face to face with the man whose life he had given up his own to understand.

It was no great shock seeing him in person. Mickey knew his face, knew his height, knew his birth date and shoe size, and could probably make an educated guess about his favorite color if he had to.

The hard part had never been finding Matteo Fantomas. It had been catching him.

He stared at the man lounging in the rigid steel chair in front of him. No surprises there. His face looked perhaps a little softer than it always appeared on grainy camera feeds and far off camera snaps.

Matteo crosses one leg over the other and Mickey raises an eyebrow. The gentleman thief and criminal mastermind is wearing a skirt – possibly the tiniest skirt Mickey has ever seen a person wear in his entire life.

Okay, there might have been some surprises.

“It’s short on purpose,” Matteo informed him, and his voice sounded exactly like it always did on traced calls and bugged mics – bastard didn’t even bother to disguise it. Well, that had backfired on him now. “Well, you do look exactly as I always pictured you, Agent Matthews.”

Mickey let his eyes bore through the other man’s skull. “You’re short as fuck.” He told him.

“Mickey—” Dancer said in exasperation.

“You knew that already.” Matteo said.

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, I did.”

“I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed not to have seen you at the arrest, darling.” Matteo drawled. “It’s a little insulting.”

“I’m a bit disappointed I missed the story behind the skirt.”

“I’m sure you can put two and two together in that quick little head of yours.” Matteo told him.

Mickey pulled out the chair opposite Matteo and laced his fingers together. “Where’d you pick him up, Dancer? Club?” Mickey shook his head. He remembered the injury Harmony had suffered – bouncers wouldn’t have cut it, would have had to have been a security detail, at the least. “No – private estate.”

“Very good.” Matteo nodded.

Mickey glanced back at Dancer. “The traced calls – you figured out who the other caller was.”

Dancer nodded.

“So you had a mark. A mark who has a _type_.” Mickey kicked his foot against Matteo’s chair under the table.

“I’m everyone’s type.” Matteo said. And then sighed, “Yes, the fool had a type. The kind of type that gets your home bugged by federal agents _all too easily_.”

_Evey_. Christ, they really had been keeping him out of the loop – and after he did all the dirty work. It made his blood boil.

“You got greedy.” Mickey told him.

“I know.” Matteo agreed. “I’m sorry to have let you down.”

“Well, look at you two getting along like old pals.” Dancer interrupted from the corner. “That’s good, real good.”

“Hardly.” Mickey scoffed. He stood up. “I may not have made the arrest, but I got you in that chair. Don’t forget that, Fantomas.”

Matteo smirked. “Oh, I highly doubt I’m likely to forget.”

“So do I. You’re gonna rot.” Mickey told him, savoring the moment. Never mind that he hadn’t been there. Everyone knew who had solved the case. Everyone knew he was the perfect match for Matteo Fantomas. “Every day, you’ll sit, trapped, unable to escape, or plot, or live your life of luxury. And you’ll remember me as the one who caught you, because you’ll be—”

“Your new division partner.” Dancer said.

“—my new division what the fuck?” Mickey said, as his brain caught up with his mouth. “My _what_?”

“We were in the middle of discussing the terms of Matteo’s sentence, before you showed up.” Dancer said calmly. “Starting tomorrow, he’ll be joining the agency – not in any official capacity, mind, more of an advisory role – and he’ll be working alongside you, Harmony, and Evey.”

Mickey gasped at him, at a loss for words. Matteo reclined in his chair, looking all too smug.

“Are you _insane_?” Mickey finally burst out.

“He has inside knowledge, Mickey.” Dancer pointed out. “He knows the underworld like no one else. This is a huge advantage for us.”

“What makes you think he’ll even cooperate?!”

“Because I don’t fancy rotting inside of a jail cell, as you so eloquently put it.” Matteo said.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking input.” Mickey kicked his chair again. “Dancer—”

“Whether I agree or not, it’s out of my hands.” Dancer told him. “Orders come from up high.”

“Deputy director?” Mickey asked, disgusted. “What kind of half-assed, useless—”

“Higher.”

Mickey paused. “…how high?”

“High as you can get.”

Shit.

In a tone of force calm, he asked, “Why the hell is he getting involved?”

Dancer shrugged. “Who knows why Barca gets involved in anything. Point is, you’re not talking your way out of this one. He stays.”

Mickey looked back at Matteo, who was inspecting his fingernails. He turned back to Dancer.

“He’s going to try to run by Tuesday, tops.”

“That’s low balling me, darling.”

“Then you better hope you can catch him again.” Dancer shrugged, pulling open the door. “You have a day to get him set up.” The door snapped shut behind him.

“So, we should probably start by getting to know one another.” Matteo said lightly. Mickey kicked his chair again, as hard as he could.

Today was going to fucking _suck_.


End file.
